


Plea Bargain

by SegaBarrett



Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, Caning, Dubious Consent, M/M, Season 3, Tritter Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tritter and House settle out of court.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plea Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own House, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Written for kink bingo, square, "caning". 
> 
> Warning: Dub-con.

Detective Michael Tritter paced back and forth, wondering for the fourth time whether maybe House had just been fucking with him. 

On one hand, this agreement had nothing to do with the law. Then again, it had never had much to do with the law anyway. If Tritter was going to be honest, it had all had to do with his own wounded pride and his own fucked up relationships with addicts in the past. So if he really wanted to, he could blame the fact that he was standing in front of Dr. House’s apartment on his damn ex-wife and her speed habit.

He was just about to turn around and go the hell home, start looking into Dr. Wilson more to get at House for wasting his time. Or maybe he would just let it go and find something else to occupy his time. Both of those solutions seemed a hell of a lot better than waiting out here, probably with all of House’s neighbors staring at him.

Finally, the door opened, and House’s sarcastic blue eyes stared right back at him.

“You made me wait,” Tritter criticized, and House rolled his eyes.

“Cripple. Takes me a while to get to the door,” he shot back. 

“Can we just get on with this? I’m not really thinking that you’re going to keep to your word,” Tritter declared, “Never trust an addict.”

“Is the rest of this really something you want to discuss in the hallway to my apartment?” House asked. “If so, be my guest, but I’m not that much of an exhibitionist myself…”

Tritter angrily moved House aside and stepped into the man’s apartment.

“What we talked about, right?” the detective reiterated. “Twenty strokes. Safe word is in place but… if you safe word and I don’t think you needed to… The deal’s off.”

“So more of a ‘jail word’,” House snarled. 

Tritter rolled his eyes.

“If you want to call into question the nature of your consent, then you’re talking to somebody in the wrong profession. But I don’t think you’d have suggested this if you didn’t want it as much, or more, than I do. You’re a masochist, House.”

“Yeah, a masochist with a chronic pain problem?” House fired back. “I’d rather not be in pain. Hence the Vicodin you have such a professional problem with. Sounds more like you are a sadist… Detective.”

Tritter shrugged.

“Well, if we’re doing this, let’s go ahead and do it. I’m tired of talking about it. Safe word if you need to and then we’ll see what happens next… But barring that, get down on your bed, pull down your pants and hand me your cane. And if you’re not behaving, I will cuff you… so you had better behave. Got it?”

House glared at him.

“In that order?” House lifted up the cane and tossed it to Tritter, who caught it easily and tapped it against the floor. 

“On the bed,” he repeated, losing patience. He was ready to get this show and if House wasn’t, well… too bad for him. 

***

House crawled on the bed, laying on his stomach and reaching up to grab the headboard, stretching his back muscles a moment before sighing, reaching back and pulling off his pants. This was humiliating… but he figured that was why Tritter had suggested it. They’d both humiliated each other in turn, and now Tritter was determined to have the last laugh.

After all this, by now, House had decided that he might as well let him. This had all gone too far now that Wilson was involved, that Wilson could get hurt in this. Might as well just let the schoolyard bully stick him in the toilet.

House was still off in his brain thinking about all of this when the first blow hit. He heard it before he felt it, cracking against his ass. He was glad that he couldn’t see how red it must be; instead all he could see was the inside of his eyelids and, when he opened them, the fabric of the black pillow he had shoved his head against. He suddenly forgot how many of these he had even agreed to, and was no longer sure he wanted to hold up his end of the deal. And some people found this erotic?

“I’d like you to count.” Tritter was being a smug little asshole, and House was really glad he couldn’t see the smirk that he was no doubt wearing like a suit. Or like a uniform, or… well, House just kept thinking up cop metaphors but it wasn’t really helping, considering that now he was thinking about Tritter’s hair and how maybe some bastard evil part of him thought it was the tiniest bit attractive. 

“One,” House grumbled, his face still in the pillow.

The second stroke was harder, and House pressed himself further against the pillow, like maybe that would make it less painful somehow. How many were left to go? Did he even remember? Would this scare him straight? Well, that possibility was pretty unlikely, especially considering he’d probably down as much Vicodin as he could find hidden away in his apartment after all this was over. He was surprised, however, that even though pressing into the mattress didn’t ease the pain of the cane at all, it somehow… developed a distraction. One he’d rather not let Tritter know about.

So he kept his face scrunched up and his body rigid as he gasped out, “Two.” He could make it through this. He’d gone through tougher things, hadn’t he? After all, this wasn’t that far off from his father’s ideas of military discipline that were meant to make the younger House into a “man”. A man who had then become a cripple and had earned disappointment from that father every second of every day. But that wasn’t House’s problem, the cane-wielding lunatic cop he’d let aim at his ass was. And the only way out of this was through it.

“Three.” House’s mind was everywhere other than this, or at least he tried to make it so. He thought of Cuddy and her cleavage and… well, even Cameron, although he didn’t want to be thinking about that. He thought of Stacy, and now he really wanted to shut down his brain. He didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to wonder again exactly what had brought him to this point, what had made him so low.

Another stroke and this time he saw stars.

“Four.” He would never tell anyone about this, and if Tritter tried to, he’d deny every second of it. “How many did I even agree to?” he asked, figuring he might as well remember what exactly he was getting himself into.

“Eight,” Tritter replied, “But if you misbehave, you’ll get more.”

House rolled his eyes, but he was glad that Tritter couldn’t see him doing so. If the detective wanted to get off on thinking that he’d brought House to his knees, well… he could go right ahead and do so. House just wanted to get this over with so he could go back to his own life. There was probably a lesson he was meant to learn from this but…

“Five.” ….His ass was throbbing, oh God it was throbbing…

He wasn’t planning on learning it. His life had been admittedly not the best before, but it still wasn’t bad enough that he was willing to make any kind of change all that big. 

“Six.” He wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it through these last two. His resolve was wavering. He wanted to give up, to throw his hands in the air or ask why the hell Tritter wanted this so badly. But somehow… he wanted to pull through it, too. This pain, like the pain that ran his life. Maybe if he could get through this…

“Seven.” Somehow he knew that the last two would be the worst. That Tritter would put everything he had into them, and try and make House regret this, regret all of it. He wondered vaguely what Tritter’s problem even was – obviously there was some baggage that had to do with addicts, but who had it been? Who had been the one to screw him over and make him so miserable?

Well, that was a question that House could ask himself, as well.

He took a deep breath, tried to hold it, but found himself floating, found himself.

“Eight!” He should have been shouting but somehow it sounded like a whisper, and even as he knew the blow had ended, every nerve ending screamed.

He must have still been suspended in the moment as he heard Tritter say, “Well, I’ll let myself out. Don’t let me catch you again. You’ve learned your lesson.”

House waited until the door had latched shut before sitting up, pulling up his pants and looking for his cane. 

He’d be glad to tell Wilson that Tritter was off his case forever. He’d be sure to hold it over his head, but he would never tell him exactly what he had done to get it resolved. Well, maybe he would tell Cuddy. She’d be suitably horrified. 

He lay back on his bed and reached out, looking for the bottle of Vicodin he had wedged right under the night table.

He paused a moment, his fingertips almost grazing the bottle, before pulling back.

Somehow, in this moment, he didn’t need it.


End file.
